


Clean Getaway

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Gen, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 10:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18496825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: There used to be a time when Ryan was good at his job.“I mean,” he muses, cool breeze brushing his cheek as an owl hoots quietly somewhere nearby. “I’m not  just tooting my own horn here, am I?”





	Clean Getaway

**Author's Note:**

> [Because reasons.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13666224/chapters/43656905)

There used to be a time when Ryan was good at his job.

“I mean,” he muses, cool breeze brushing his cheek as an owl hoots quietly somewhere nearby. “I’m not just tooting my own horn here, am I?”

Ryan has a decent record solving the cases that cross his desk and a few commendations under his belt. Felt like he was doing good solving cases and putting criminals behind bars where they belonged. Making his city a safer place for the people in it, and then a new criminal organization moved in.

Made nuisances of themselves here and there. Petty crimes and smart enough to slip out of their grasp time and time again. 

And then they hit the wrong target. 

Burglarized homes and businesses belonging to influential figures in the city and an outcry had gone out which resulted in a task force being formed to address the public’s concerns.

And now - 

Well.

And now.

In his ear there’s a quiet – melancholy almost - _”toot”_ accompanied a moment later by a quietly exasperated sigh.

“Ryan,” Trevor says, too damn young to sound so damn old. “Please focus.”

Ryan feels a faint surge of annoyance because he _is_ focusing.

He’s focusing so damn hard it’s incredible, because it's goddamn cold out and while he’s dressed the part for his current job, the clothes aren’t _warm_. The ground he’s crouching on is wet, because rain, and the rest of him is wet, also because rain.

A whole lot of it, really, and more falling from the sky as he waits for the police presence to leave so he can crawl out of his hiding spot.

“Ryan James, are you listening to me right now or are you bitching about how hard your life is inside that head of yours?”

That annoyance?

There’s more of it now.

So much.

“Trevor,” Ryan says, voice pitched low because he alerted some nosy neighbors to his presence earlier that night by standing in the wrong place. Hearing a voice from the bushes might also be seen as suspect. “I am focusing, as the kids say, ‘like whoa.’”

There’s a pause.

Long.

Uncomfortable.

Awkward, really, and then Trevor clears his throat while Jeremy has some kind of coughing fit.

“Okay then,” Trevor says, drawing out the vowels the way he does sometimes when he’s at a loss. “Lindsay put in a call, the cops should be gone in a few minutes.”

It takes a moment for Ryan to remember who Trevor’s even talking about. 

Their little task force was put together so hastily before they threw him to the wolves Ryan’s not sure he had the chance to met her. (He’s heard her over the comms, though, and it’s always an adventure when she’s around.)

“Okay,” Ryan says. “That’s good, right?”

There’s this little choked off sound from Trevor, almost as though he’s bitten back sharp words or rebuke because yes, okay, tonight’s been a bit of a clusterfuck.

In Ryan’s defense, however, it’s not his fault.

If the damn Jones’ could just stick to their regular schedule instead of changing things up on him all willy nilly, he could have successfully burgled them. Taken the good Vinny wanted him and smashed their toilet (he’s still puzzling that one out, because why?) with no one being the wiser.

But no.

The Jones’ came home early, and Ryan had fled the scene with Trevor and Jeremy yelling conflicting advice in his ear and taken refuge in the bushes where they continue to be unhelpful at him.

This godawful noise like someone’s put their hand over the mics and sound of muffled voices. Godawful noise again and the tail end of another exasperated sigh from Trevor.

“Might as well pack it in for the night Ryan,” Trevor says, and while there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice they all share, the amusement at how quickly things went so badly is crowding it out. “We can try again tomorrow night.”

Ryan watches people strolling past – who the hell takes a leisurely stroll this late at night in the rain like this? - and one of the squad cars driving by.

Feels that old friend of his disappointment laughing at him in the back of his head because they’ve been at this for weeks now. 

Working with various federal agencies to set things in motion to bring down this new criminal organization. 

Have them snare Ryan in an _agreement_ to work for them to repay them for springing him from jail. It’s far too convoluted a story to be believable, and yet here he is.

A far worse criminal than even he expected to be, and why the hell everyone was so insistent he be the one to go undercover he’ll never know. 

“Okay,” Ryan says, because he knows how suspicious Trevor is when he’s agreeable. “I mean, it’s not like things could any worse, right?”

Another one of those long, uncomfortable pauses.

“ _Ryan James_ ,” Trevor says, sounding every bit like a scandalized mom on an old timey sitcom. “Why on earth would you say something like that?” 

In contrast, Jeremy is one hundred percent _losing it_. Gasping, wheezy laughter that goes a long way to soothe the sting of tonight’s failures.

“Yeah, not sorry,” Ryan says, because he isn’t. 

Nowhere near, and they all know it.

The second squad car rolls past and Ryan gives it another five minutes before he ventures forth from his hiding spot.

The rain has tapered off to a light drizzle, so the walk to where he left his car isn’t completely unpleasant as Ryan listens to Trevor and Jeremy get into some debate about Ryan and his penchant for inviting bad luck. 

Wet and cold, yes, but it really could be worse.

(...Somehow.)


End file.
